The Shadowy Path - 3. Chapter 3

"Our Empire has long been under pressure from many threats. While the Shadow Cross likes to flex its muscles, it can only undermine order in our homeland. Far more unpredictable is the republican opposition, whose efforts we have been following closely here at Military Headquarters. So far, attempts to crush the opposition movement have been unsuccessful.

So much for domestic affairs. Let us now move on to the real subject of my speech, the external threats that our armed forces are supposed to combat.

The issue of Malkania has been the subject of strategic reflection for decades. The desire of the Council of Grand Dukes of Malkania to accelerate the arms race is well known. The war of prevention has always had strong supporters among our generals and in the Senate - I will return to their arguments afterwards. Personally, however, I see no possibility of diverting troops for an operation against the West, given the current resource situation. The situation in the East is so critical.

In my youth I fought in the East on the fields of the Never-Ending War. The front was much more stable then than it is today. Yet there are no indications of an end to the long period of trench warfare. The Ksingis have neither the courage nor certainly the ability for large-scale operations or the usurpation of the upper hand. But neither do we. The shortage of men has worsened on all sections of the front and there are not enough reinforcements without conscription. And in the current political situation, the emperor has no desire to call up men for military service.

The East has been Andiol's fate for decades, and without a solution to the problem of the Never-Ending War, it will remain so. Therefore, I say no to an invasion of Malkania."

- Excerpt from Marshal General Rezak Vondau's review at the Headquarters of the Imperial Army of Andiol, Autumn 1591.

* * *

Josel

The morning had already turned to day before Josel finally woke up. Last night's celebration of Spring Day had lasted until late. He had wandered around the city with his best friends, checking out all the young people's hangouts, just in case there were any interesting girls.

It had been carefree fun, but Josel had still had to struggle during the evening to keep in the party mood. More than once he had to peer over his shoulder to make sure a certain lipless creeper was not lurking in the shadows. With an excuse, he had avoided walking home alone.

Josel rubbed his head, which was aching from a slight hangover. Eventually, the unpleasant thoughts gave way to the brightness of the day. Stretching his limbs lazily, he staggered to the sink in his room, poured water from the tap into a basin and quickly washed up himself.

The cold water refreshed nicely. After washing, Josel hastily brushed his teeth and looked for clothes to wear. Luckily, the ridiculous school uniform could be left at the bottom of the wardrobe for a whole month until the second term of the year began.

After getting dressed, he looked in the mirror. White undershirt, sleeveless vest and slim-fitting trousers looked good on his lithe body. The light colour of the waistcoat matched his hair so well that Josel grinned smugly at his reflection.

He skipped down the stairs to the lounge, whistling to himself. Dad and Curtus were not there, but were talking in the study. The door was ajar, so Josel pricked up his ears to hear. Unfortunately, the men had probably noticed that he was awake and were therefore speaking deliberately quietly. Josel could, however, make out concern in their voices and individual words such as 'Monteilon' and 'the Shadow Cross'.

Josel gave a grumpy sneer. Why was he still being treated like a little child who wasn't allowed to listen to grown-up talk? Surely a 16-year-old was old enough to understand more serious matters.

Annoyed, he crossed the lounge to the kitchen, hoping to find something warm to eat. Unfortunately, the pots and pans left on the gas stove were running dry. It was something Josel had grown accustomed to since his mother's death. Curtus tried his best in the kitchen, but he did not have time to handle everything.

Luckily, Josel found a piece of stale bread in the cupboard and, after descending the stairs to the cold store, a cheese, ham and butter. At least they’d fill you up, he thought as he sliced the ham onto a plate.

As Josel munched on his late breakfast, Andreuz Sandkan came into the kitchen and wished his son a good morning.

"I was thinking of going out," Josel said.

"Okay, but be careful. The situation in town is volatile."

"Oh, because of yesterday?"

"Yes," Andreuz replied. "It is said that clashes between the Shadow Cross gunmen and the governor's soldiers were narrowly avoided."

"Why doesn't the governor resign if he has mismanaged so badly?" Josel wondered.

It made his father frown. He said in an angry voice: "Do not believe Isendar Vargan's lies, too many have already gone to believe them."

The answer did not please Josel. Why shouldn't the Governor's actions be questioned? His father's constant negativity towards the Shadow Cross also irritated him. After all, the organisation had done far more for the town in that year than the Governor had probably done in his entire term of office.

Wanting to challenge his father, Josel said: "Who knows, maybe Vargan is telling the truth."

He shouldn't have done that, because Andreuz slammed his palm on the table and said: "Son, you must remember that those shadow dogs never tell the truth, never. The Shadow Cross is not tolerated in this house, you know that!"

Who was Dad to dictate the opinions of others! Josel jumped up from his chair. "Why do you always defend that perverted Monteilon? At least Vargan is helping the townspeople and not just playing in bed with who knows who!"

Without warning, Andreuz's hand slashed through the air. Josel cried out as the open palm struck his ear.

"Think about what you're saying, kid!" Andreuz shouted, his face red.

Josel pressed his hand to his ear. It hissed and burned.

Curtus came into the kitchen. "What's going on...?" he said before Josel stormed out of the kitchen without looking at his father.

Josel darted into the hallway, snatched the house key from the nail and slammed the front door behind him.

Once outside, he strode down the street in a rage and with no clear destination in mind. The slap still left a sting around his ear. Why did Dad have to be so stubborn! Why on earth did he have to defend that jerk governor!

As he walked, the anger began to subside. Josel realised that he had walked quite far, to a part of town called Belfry Hill, where he rarely visited. His home, school and the sports ground - the most important landmarks in his life - were in the other direction.

Belfry Hill was known for its many manufactories, where weavers, platers and other workers made products for the people of Paidos. In Belfry Hill was also located the Headquarters of the Shadow Cross, and the area was said to be under the organisation's special protection.

The soldiers of the City Guard were nowhere to be seen. In their place on Belfry Hill stood the watchmen known as the shadow sentries, their grey and black jackets emblazoned with the emblem of the Shadow Cross: a cross and a much larger shadow. Josel could only guess how many other shadow sentries were roaming the streets, disguised as ordinary townspeople.

Reflecting on the extraordinary situation of Paidos, he realised that he had come to a peaceful park. A wooden bench in the shade of a huge linden tree beckoned him to rest his feet. After sitting down on the bench, Josel took his time observing the townspeople passing by. You could feel the tension in Paidos in their hurried movements.

Josel began to feel thirsty. He was about to return home when he noticed someone approaching the bench. Josel quickly pressed his backside against the bench and just stared.

The girl was tall and strikingly beautiful. Her raven-black hair, typical in southern Andiol, fell to her shoulders. Her oval face was charming and her dark eyes were captivating.

"Hey, can I sit next to you?" the dark beauty asked in a voice without a trace of shyness.

"Of course, there's plenty of room for two," Josel managed to say, trying to estimate the newcomer's age. A little older than himself, perhaps?

The girl sat down gracefully on a bench and looked at Josel without flinching. Josel didn't really know what to think. Was the stranger interested in him, or was she just curious? It was so hard to find out about girls, especially the girls at Josel's school.

Josel thought he was one of the most popular boys in school. Or at least his golden hair was the object of the girls' inexhaustible interest. That's why Josel didn't mind being lighter than the others and never refused the attention he received.

Still, he had not been able to go all the way with the girls. A few kisses and some tentative caresses in the park next to the school - that was all. For some reason, the girls were looking for serious dating rather than passionate moments in a secluded place.

It was hard to understand. In his own mind, Josel was too young to commit to anyone. He just wanted to find a nice girl to try things out with. What more did a young man need? There would be plenty of time for dating later.

Perhaps the girl on the bench was like that, one who found nothing objectionable about having fun. Josel glanced at her from under his brows and decided to smile.

It worked, because she finally opened up the conversation: "This park is my favourite place in Paidos. Isn't it beautiful?"

Josel had to admit.

"You're not from Belfry Hill, aren’t you?"

"How did you guess?" Josel wondered, adding, "I live in the Portwell area."

"I would remember if you had sat here before."

"Oh, you would remember?"

"Yes, it would be hard to forget such a handsome boy with hair like that."

The remark made Josel's cheeks flush and she laughed lightly at his confusion.

After a short silence, the beautiful girl introduced herself: "I'm Jolanda."

"Josel," he replied, squeezing her hand. The hand was graceful and warm; Josel would have liked to hold it much longer.

"Our names go well together. They start the same way," Jolanda remarked and burst out laughing again. Josel laughed too and found that he liked her.

They chatted for a long time on the bench. Jolanda seemed interested in what Josel was doing and eagerly asked more questions. When Josel told her about his victory in the spring competition, Jolanda called him a sports hero and touched his bare arm lightly with her fingertips. The gesture sent a pleasant shiver trough his entire body.

Jolanda scantly talked about herself. She said she was a shop assistant and lived in a women's hostel nearby. Josel assumed that she was ashamed of her modest background and therefore did not bother to inquire further.

As Josel had suspected, Jolanda was two years older than him, already eighteen. His ego was quite flattered that a slightly older girl would show such obvious interest in him.

After a long chat, Jolanda started to leave, and Josel asked when they could meet again. Jolanda laughed and said she was afraid Josel would never ask.

A meeting was quickly arranged for the following morning. Josel couldn't help but smiling a stunned smile when Jolanda gave him a little kiss on the cheek as she got up from the bench.

* * *

As Josel walked home, he realised that it was already noon. The time with Jolanda had flown by. Was it mutual infatuation or what? Josel wasn't sure, things had happened so quickly. In any case, Jolanda was very beautiful and fascinating.

Suddenly he remembered the argument with his father. The anger had evaporated and been forgotten with the walk and the meeting with Jolanda. In fact, Josel was ashamed of the whole incident. Dad had enough to worry about, with Mom’s death and all. He should try to be friendly when he got home, and Dad would get over it, as he always did.

As Josel approached the house, he saw old Curtus sitting on the front porch, smoking his pipe and talking with Robs Nakof, the tailor who lived downstairs in their house.

The Nakof family consisted of Robs, his wife Isebela and their children Davon and Casda, aged three and five. Even now, little Davon was running around the yard under his father's supervision, pushing small toy carts.

When he saw Josel, the little boy happily shouted "Josi!" and raced off, forgetting the cart in the middle of the road.

Josel had occasionally looked after the tailor's children when their parents were away. Davon and Casda must have thought of him as a sort of big brother. Josel found the little ones fun to play with, especially since he did not have a little sister or brother of his own.

He nodded a greeting to Robs and Curtus before crouching down to listen to little Davon's fuzzy explanation of a cat and its three kittens that Davon had seen behind the woodshed. After listening patiently to the child's story, he ruffled his hair and walked over to Robs and Curtus.

"Good to see you, lad. Your father has been worried, try not to upset him anymore. The last few days have been hard for Andreuz," Curtus said in his own calm way.

Josel mumbled a yes, waved goodbye to Davon and stepped over the threshold through the open front door. The door to the right of the staircase led to the Nakof's apartment and the tailor's office. Directly ahead were the stairs leading up to the Sandkans' apartment and Curtus' attic room.

When Josel opened the front door, the first thing he saw was his father pacing restlessly in the living room with a newspaper in his hand. Andreuz Sandkan's face lit up with relief as he saw his son stumble into the hallway and hurried over to him.

"Josel, don’t think badly of this morning," Andreuz said. "You know I don't usually... I was tired and I got upset for nothing. Of course you can say what you think."

"Never mind...let's leave it at that," Josel said, and everything was settled. Standing there face to face, he realised that he was not much shorter than his father, although Andreuz was a rather tall man.

"Is there anything to eat?" Josel continued, not wanting to prolong the silly argument. Besides, his stomach was churning with hunger.

"Curtus has prepared a meat and turnip stew, there'll be plenty for tomorrow too."

It was enough to make Josel rush to the kitchen. As he crossed the living room, he grabbed a fresh newspaper from the table. On the front page was a bulletin signed by Governor Monteilon himself, urging the citizens to remain calm and mentioning several projects recently launched by the imperial governor of Paidos. Josel thought that Monteilon's self-congratulatory letter would not convince the people, especially when he remembered the hostility at the Spring Day celebration.

Since his father had returned to his writing and probably wanted to be left alone, Josel climbed the stairs to his room after lunch. Although the room was cramped, Josel liked it, it was his own private space. The room was lit by a small double-paned window overlooking the wall of the house opposite. There was a bed along one long wall, a desk along the other, and a bookshelf with school books and all of Andreuz Sandkan's literary works.

Josel looked at the mess: heaps of clothes on the bed and the floor, and the junk piled up on the small table by the window. But he decided to postpone the cleaning and picked up one of his father's books from the shelf. It was called Troubadour Kharl and the revenge of Masked Thief. Josel found the titles of his father's books a little whimsical and exaggerated: The Bridge of Nao-Kartheon will explode! Stop it, Kharl!; or Troubadour Kharl, the hero of the whole Empire; or Masked Thief, the most dangerous of all enemies.

Troubadour Kharl was the protagonist and hero of Andreuz Sandkan's novels. He was a master swordsman, who also played the fipple flute, and in the books he went from one wild adventure after the other. Following a series of swift plot twists, Kharl did always outdo the villainous Masked Thief or one of his other devious enemies.

In general, Josel had no interest in reading beyond compulsory schoolwork. For example, the novels he read for literature class at school were sleeplessly dry. At least the adventures of Troubadour Kharl were exciting, even if they were not the most important works of Andiol literature.

He flopped into bed and took his time leafing through a novel about the revenge of Masked Thief.

"At dawn, Troubadour Kharl saddled Gingerbread and took a last look at the map. The road to Dafrenheld Castle would be arduous and fraught with danger, but Kharl had to try. The Knife King's diamond was worth it, worth more than life itself. "

Josel yawned drowsy and turned the pages. He knew the story all too well. Soon Kharl would be in trouble, but of course he would be saved at the last minute. Why did the plots of the Troubadour Kharl novels always have to be so predictable? It was as if the father deliberately wrote simpler stories than he was capable of.

Fortunately, the real life was much more interesting than books. Like Jolanda, who was impossible to forget. Not that Josel wanted to. Her kiss still warmed his cheek and his stomach tingled as he remembered their meeting on the park bench.

The noises from the lounge interrupted Josel's reverie. "Josel, your friends are here to see you," Curtus' gruff voice announced from downstairs.

At the same moment, the door to the room was flung open and three dark-haired, brown-eyed boys burst in. The tall, lanky young man with the most prominent nose and a look of eager curiosity on his face was Franz Landez, Josel's best friend. He was followed by burly, round-faced Bartos Rigailon and good-looking curlyhead Darren Temjanion. The boys shouted cheerful greetings, and Josel smiled with delight. He had missed his friends already!

"Goldy, what the hell! You're just lying here, even though the sun is shining outside," Franz grumbled. "I got up early to see if the Governor had announced his resignation. He hadn't! The neighbours said that today the town council..."

The story was interrupted when a curly-haired Darren snatched the book out of Josel's hand and spelled out the name on the cover. "Daddy's stories again! With the help of these you..." he guessed, making a dirty gesture with his hand.

"You can't even read," Josel said back to Darren.

This caused the boy to roar playfully and attack Josel. Soon Josel was lying on his stomach on the bed with his hand clenched behind his back. He knew he was very evenly matched in wrestling with Darren, but since neither of them were serious, Josel did not bother to put up a good fight.

"Well, can I read?" Darren asked, grinning with the dimples on his cheeks, and twisted Josel's arm a little harder.

"Let me go...alright, you can read...", Josel growled, and Darren released his hand. "You can read as well as paint merchant Gekko's old donkey."

Josel laughed and ran from Darren behind Franz's back. Darren tried to throw a pillow at Josel, but it hit Franz right in the face. A merciless pillow fight ensued. The calmer Bartos was content to watch from the sidelines with a wry smile on his face.

Eventually the boys settled down and found seats in Josel's room.

Franz was sitting on Josel's bed with his long legs crossed and his back against the wall. "That Vargan’s attack yesterday was quite an incident," he said. "It's going to be tough for poor Monteilon unless he gets reinforcements from the emperor for the Paidos City Guard."

A pensive pause followed. An apologetic cough brought the floor to Bartos, whose father was a high official in the Paidos administration. "Dad said a lot depends on which side the merchants and other big factions in the Town Council take. That's all he would say."

"Boring! I don't care who's in charge," said Darren, who seemed more interested in starting a new pillow fight than discussing politics.

The remark provoked Franz to argue against it. "It's not the same at all! Monteilon is a scoundrel, but neither does the Shadow Cross care a whit for this country. If disorder grows in Andiol, the situation on the Eastern Front could worsen, or even Malkania could attack us from the west. The emperor and the army need the support of the entire nation behind them."

It was a rather coy way of putting it, which the quick-witted Darren immediately picked up on. "Both places are fricking far! You should think about something normal; you sound like our history teacher. I mean that probably 100-year-old guy who hasn't had a woman since he got off his mom's tit."

Josel saw Franz's mouth tighten into a line. He had to think of something hastily to soothe him. "Let's go out. To Saramanda's Inn, for instance," Josel suggested.

It was the magic word that swept away Franz's sulk. "Indeed! It always happens there," he confirmed, his face beaming, and was on his feet in an instant.

The others didn't mind either: Darren could make himself comfortable anywhere, and it wasn't like Bartos to complain. The decision was made, and soon they were out on the road. Since the tailor Nakof had gone in with little Davon, the journey to the tavern could continue without further delay.

* * *

They waited at the rail-carriage stop. Darren was throwing pebbles at the door handle of a grouchy-known shoemaker, clearly hoping for a little scuffle. While Bartos tried to make him stop, Josel thought about the morning scene at home. Why did Dad have to be so adamant in his defence of Governor Monteilon? It was probably pointless to ask, he would never have said.

Franz's foot stamped the ground, restless with anticipation. He had a habit of getting excited about anything that was the least bit exciting. And for Franz Landez, almost everything in the world was exciting, except the sales shifts in his mother's general store.

But Josel had not made his suggestion without a reason. Much was heard and seen in the brewery known as Saramanda's Inn. It was the main gathering place in town for travellers, merchants and other mysterious strangers. Besides, the owner, a plump woman called Saramanda, was one of the few innkeepers willing to serve intoxicating drinks to people of Josel's age.

A whistle woke the four boys. A wagon was rattling towards them from up the hill, steam billowing from its pipe. It halted with a clamorous screech. A few jumps and they were on board.

The rail-carriage began to move again. The stern-faced conductor did not seem pleased to have to deal with four noisy youngsters. Especially when a grinning Darren told him that he was broke. Fortunately, Bartos had enough coins in his wallet to save the day - as he always did.

Josel liked to ride on the rail-carriages. They were an easy way to get from one side of town to the other, much faster than with an ordinary horse-drawn carriages. It was amusing to hear Curtus ramble on about how, in his youth, the first rail-carriages had only just been tested and their steam boilers had been bursting all the time. There were also no airships yet.

Andiol must have been a much duller place to live in those days, Josel thought, and lifted his scabby shoes to the opposite bench - just to tease the conductor.

* * *

The sun was still high in the sky when Josel and his friends arrived at the door of Saramanda's Inn. The famous tavern was on the ground floor of a three-storey stone building. On the upper floors, in addition to mistress Saramanda's supposedly luxurious private quarters, were rooms for travellers and private chambers where the wildest drinking parties were said to take place.

The boys, led by Franz, entered the great hall of the tavern, right in the middle of the action. Jars of beer were being tipped and many customers were about to dine. In the corner, cards were being played and dice thrown, but there was no music. Saramanda was known to have a deep dislike for all kinds of musicians and merrymakers, so no performers of any kind were allowed.

After a little wrangling, the four of them chose a table near a chatty group of two Imperial Army soldiers on their day off and a civilian from Paidos sitting at the same table. Since the City Guard, rather than the army, was responsible for keeping order in the town, anyone in imperial military uniform was usually just passing through.

The Never-Ending War in the east demanded more and more men to fuel it, and even in Paidos, army recruiters did their best to lure idle young men into service. The promise of a decent wage, or the sheer desire for adventure, led many to defy death and give up their freedom for the safety of the Empire.

Josel had no interest in war, but Franz was probably ready to forge his age and join the army heading east. That was because the recruiters had filled his head with heroic tales of battles.

This time it was Franz again, waving his thumb in the direction of the soldiers at the next table and telling his friends to pay attention. Darren rolled his head at him and pressed his palm to his cheek in imitation of a yawn. Franz's eyes, however, fixed on the soldiers and he did not notice the sneer.

Despite the background noise of the tavern, it was easy to make out the soldiers' conversation, for they were getting drunk and talking in loud voices.

"Nobart, do you like this beer? Or is it better at home?" the gangly soldier snarled at the man next to him and began to scratch his unshaven chin. Judging by his dialect, he was from further west.

"Hah, I wouldn't drink that goat’s piss," Nobart replied. "There must be better tasting beer in the East. You aren’t up for a fight if you can't get a pint to fill your belly."

A bystander at the same table chimed in. "The cheapest ale in Paidos is a feast next to the lager served in the taverns of the Eastern Front. I think you made a poor choice when you joined the army anyway."

"What do you mean? At least I'm glad to have escaped the creditors this way," said the soldier with stubble.

"Haven’t you heard what awaits you in the East?"

Both soldiers shook their heads.

The civilian laughed harshly and replied for them, "Certain death awaits you."

The boys listened in silence, almost holding their breath. It was exactly the kind of talk they had hoped to hear in Saramanda's Inn. Josel noticed Franz craning his neck towards the soldiers to hear better.

Franz found it even harder to contain his excitement as the civilian continued. "Angry creditors are nothing compared to the Eastern Front. You did a stupid thing when you signed the treaty. You're in for a shitty time in the East. I don't suppose the recruiter mentioned the ever-increasing attacks or the constant shortage of men? Of course, he didn't mention - how else they could get more fools like you to join a pointless war."

"What do you think you know, old man?" snapped the unshaven soldier.

"I know a lot. I served six long years on the front line near Gloomfort, though Gloomfort no longer exists. It was destroyed by a Ksingi attack a few years ago. Only three men from our company survived the battle. Imagine, off the whole company! I was lucky to lose only this one," the civilian said, raising his hidden left hand. It had been cut off at the wrist.

Josel took a sharp breath. Nobart and the unshaven man were also stunned. They looked at each other in obvious concern.

Finally, the unshaven one spoke: "Things have certainly improved since you were here. I've read in the papers about the great victories at the front. This country needs new heroes, like the brave Marl Gaidok!"

Franz nodded knowingly at his friends. Marl Gaidok, the most famous warrior of years past, was his greatest role model. Over the years, Josel, Bartos and Darren had grown tired of listening to Franz recount his exploits. Josel was grateful that Gaidok had been missing or dead for a dozen years. Otherwise, Franz would have sought him out and begged him to join the band of adventurers led by his hero.

The armless veteran was not as impressed. He grunted in a mocking tone. "Phew, it's all propaganda! They don't want the people to know the truth. No great victories have been achieved in fifteen years."

"What about the Farthest Pass?" the unshaven man reminded.

The veteran took a long swig from his ale and shook his head heavily. "The Farthest Pass was no victory. It was averting total destruction. The lines are at breaking point and more men are dying than can be transported to the front. Even a hundred Marl Gaidoks would not save Andiol."

Nobart was the first to reply. "But how is that possible? Everyone knows that our army is better equipped and more skilled in battle than the Ksingis'."

"That may have been true in the past," the veteran explained. "The Ksingi army today is different from half a century ago. They don't have as powerful weapons as we do, but they have harnessed the beasts of the East to their warfare. I myself have seen the fury hounds attack in the same formation as the Ksingis. If you don’t know, they are canines, the size of small horses. I have seen them tear men to pieces with their fangs. And that's not all. The enemy also possesses a strange magic that..."

"That's just bullshit!" barked the unshaven soldier.

"Who says you've ever been at the front?" Nobart snorted, supporting his comrade.

The veteran glared at the soldiers, but did not join the debate. "You'll see," Josel heard him mutter.

The soldiers were unconvinced by the veteran's words, but the four boys at the next table were beaming with enthusiasm. The staff at Saramanda's Inn had also noticed the noisy trio. A waitress, dressed in a white apron glared at the men so sternly that they lowered their voices.

Next, the waitress turned her attention to the boys. She looked at Josel and the others for a moment, as if to see if they were old enough to order.

"Okay, a beer for each of you and then you leave. This is not the place for someone so young," she said with motherly firmness.

The boys' grumbling did not change the waitress' mind. So Bartos, who always had the most money, paid for all the drinks, despite the feeble protests of the others.

Meanwhile, the soldiers at the next table sat in hushed silence. The handless veteran had risen from the table and made his way to the door. As he did so, a young lieutenant of the Imperial Army, in his neat service uniform, walked up to the soldiers.

"Get a good rest today, men. We have a long march tomorrow," the lieutenant announced in a commanding tone. Then he strode briskly up the stairs to the upper quarters, where Saramanda was known to have arranged prostitutes to entertain the officers.

Nobart grinned at the lieutenant's back. "Brainless chump, the death will mow him down on the Eastern Front as surely as it will mow us down."

"Shut up!" the unshaven man snarled. "Come on, I'll kick your ass in a dice game." With that, they got up on one foot and hopped to the other end of the hall, where the gambling tables lured customers to spend their money.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" Josel asked, sipping the beer the waiter had placed on the table. The newspapers reported the exact opposite of what was happening on the Eastern Front. That much Josel had read.

"I certainly do!" Franz almost snapped. "Monteilon is afraid that the people would freak out if they heard here how things really are in the East."

Josel was not so easily convinced. "Well, in that case, why doesn't the Shadow Cross come clean?"

Franz had no answer, so Bartos was able to share his views. "Perhaps the Shadow Cross doesn’t want the people to be angry with the emperor, but only with Monteilon. It is more advantageous for the Shadow Cross to focus on the problems of Paidos. Vargan is playing a devious game. He is even more dishonest than Monteilon."

"No," Franz interjected. "Monteilon is the lowest of the low when it comes to honesty. Somewhere on the level of the sneaky market vendors "

Darren held up his finger. "Except that those vendors can't cheat enough money to get whores in bed," he said, causing the others to chuckle.

Franz clearly wanted to keep talking about war and took the floor before Darren's next joke. "Still, the biggest deal is the Ksingis using the fury hounds!"

"There are stories like that in my father's books - fairy tales. The fury hounds aren’t real," Josel said, although he knew from experience that Franz's head would not turn.

Even now, stubbornness and enthusiasm glowed in Franz's cheeks. "The veteran had fought at the front for years. He’d know how it is there," he said.

"Maybe, but we've heard the old men twaddling before. They don’t talk about the fury hounds in school or in the newspapers," Josel protested.

"Phew, I don't trust what the school or the Monteilon’s papers says."

Josel scowled and did not bother to argue any longer. While the more patient Bartos and Darren continued to discuss with Franz about the existence of the fury hounds, Josel let his gaze slip to the inn's guests.

A lone figure at a corner table caught his attention. The dark robes gave the figure a furtive appearance, especially when his face was hidden behind the hood.

Josel found it odd. Plenty of people spent time in the pub with only their own thoughts and a bucket of beer for company, but why would anyone want to hide their face inside? It reminded Josel of the Troubadour Kharl books and the cunning Masked Thief, who wore a mask that partially covered his face when he disguised himself.

Just as Josel was about to tear his gaze away from the lone figure, the stranger suddenly pulled his hood down and stared straight into his eyes. The man's lips were grotesquely mutilated and the whites of his eyes flashed yellow. Then, with an equally swift movement, the hood returned to cover the scarred face.

It felt as if every hair on his skin stood up. Josel shivered and wanted to jump up and take to his heels. Barely he managed to calm himself. Whatever his father and Curtus had done that night, it had not scared the lipless horror away.

"What's the matter, Goldy? You look like you ate a rotten apple." Franz asked, interrupting his ramblings about the monsters threatening the eastern parts of the realm.

Josel shuddered. "Nothing... just get on with it."

Franz furrowed his brow, knowing his friend well enough to see that something was wrong. But Darren's banter about the breeding habits of fury hounds forced Franz to argue against it, and Josel could breathe a sigh of relief.

Josel was equally sure that there was no point in alarming his father and Curtus by telling them of his new encounter with the lipless persecutor. After all, the man had done nothing wrong on either occasion. It was therefore difficult to understand his father's panic.

Even so, Josel could not help but be startled when he glanced back at the corner table and saw that it was empty. As if the hooded figure with yellow eyeballs and a battered face had never sat there.

* * *

When the last of the four had finished his beer, they made their way, somewhat reluctantly, towards the front door. Before they left, however, the boys managed to catch a glimpse of Saramanda herself. The illustrious owner of the tavern was wearing a green dress with an unusually open neckline. She was working behind the bar counter, bracelets jingling and heavy breasts swinging.

The boys grinned at each other; the sight of the buxom lady completed the visit. The next day, they had to find something equally interesting to do.

Darren suggested going to the sports ground, which he thought was the best place in town for girl-watching. It was an easy excuse to persuade the others, even Franz, who despised sport. The curves of the track were already in Josel's mind, and when Bartos muttered something approving about weightlifting, tomorrow's agenda was set.

Then Josel remembered his meeting with Jolanda. "Guys, if it’s okay, let’s not go until the afternoon."

"So, what are you up to?" Franz wondered.

"Josi has a girl!" the witty Darren exclaimed triumphantly.

The correct guess made Josel blush and his friends roar with joy.

"Who is it? Tell us now!" the trio pleaded in unison.

Proud of his surprising success on the female front, Josel told all about his meeting with Jolanda. Others patted him on the back and congratulated him, as if everything about Jolanda was already clear. Together they decided to postpone their meeting.

After saying goodbye to his friends, Josel took a walk home. A lot had happened in the past few days. First, he had won the kite fight, then he had met Jolanda. It seemed he had been almost too lucky. What if the hooded stranger was some kind of warning sign that one day his luck might be snatched away?

Josel let his thoughts drift, realising that he had taken a longer detour than he had originally intended. The stroll seemed to have dispelled any miseries. Josel chuckled to himself. It was foolish to panic over the scarface. He was young, strong and having the time of his life. Nothing could stop him, ever.

* * *